Over dinner, we talk about faith. I yell exasperatedly: “but what does it mean to say that people have faith?” This enunciation alone requires some knowledge; otherwise it is stupid to engage in making it to begin with. But if you have knowledge, by definition you need no faith. Ok, so it was decided over eggs that when faith gets engaged it is because you know you have to make a leap over the first step, which you can imagine is there, but you cannot see. And this is where it gets complicated. Let’s start again: so you can imagine a step. You can imagine it. You can imagine that there is a step you have to make, but you cannot see it, and because you cannot see it, you doubt its existence. So you’re then both a pessimist and one who thinks has faith, but in reality doesn’t. Pessimism and faith don’t go together. Unless you come from Vest Jylland, as my best friend’s father suggests. “Faith is transcendental,” I say. The others are thinking about it. Ok, so we have faith, imagination, doubt, and pessimism. Right. And infinity, I forgot about that. You can imagine all you want. And have faith. I go with this, as a theologian. But as a mathematician? Damn. We need someone who is sharp as a razor in both. Anyone? Horia, the haiduk lektor, knight of my kingdom of stairs, or stares, let’s make it public, we need you to formulate an axiom. If I’m not going to have an axiom by 12 tonight, I’m going to turn into something that’s a hell of a lot worse than a pumpkin. How strong is your theology? Mine is fucking vibrating, but the idea that faith can be imagined ad infinitum gives me the vertigo, so I can’t think straight. But I have faith. I have knowledge of things I don’t know of. Therefore I have faith plus imagination. But is it enough? My faithful mathematicians, do jump at this, make the leap, and sweep my theology off my step! So I can fly over it and kiss the air, with reverence.